


Comfort

by MissMarquin



Series: A Study in Russian [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Leather Jackets, M/M, Romance, This is gay as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 18:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16539593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarquin/pseuds/MissMarquin
Summary: It's stupid, how we take comfort in the simplest of things.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is a series now. 
> 
> NaNoWriMo prompt #1-- Suitcase
> 
> This takes place BEFORE When the Sun Sets in Barcelona, by about two years, but it IS considered standalone.

_**Comfort** _

 

* * *

 

 

For the past four years, Otabek had spent Christmas in Moscow with Yuri. 

He was a non-practicing muslim by heritage, and Yuri wasn’t remotely Christian, but the holidays were lonely and the winter in Almaty was freezing.

So the natural thing to do was go to somewhere even colder for the month.  _ Because he missed his only friend _ , he would tell himself.

Their relationship had no labels. They aren’t dating, but they weren’t sleeping together. But they went out and did things. And they stayed in, and watched movies late into the night. They often fell asleep on the couch, Otabek’s head resting against Yuri’s bony shoulder.

This year was different, though. This year, things had shifted slightly, and Otabek had realized some things. And one of those things was that he didn’t want to go home.

It was always a bittersweet sort of thing, saying goodbye to Yuri, but this time he stood frozen in the guest bedroom, staring at his suitcases. On top of the bed that was never unmade, because he had just slept with Yuri instead.

“Hey, you almost done?” Yuri asked, poking his head around the doorframe. He glanced at his phone, checking the time. His hair had grown over the years, just brushing past his shoulders, framing his face just so and--

Otabek looked away, moving to fold a shirt. “Yeah, I’m finishing up.”

Yuri nodded, looking back to him. “Good. Your plane leaves in three hours, and you know how annoying the airport is.” Before Otabek could say anything more, Yuri was gone, leaving him alone.

Yeah, airports were annoying, but not as annoying as leaving your only friend behind. Especially when he’d miss reaching out and sweeping Yuri’s hair behind his ear, when it gets in the way. Or Yuri’s magic hands, and how they could just rub the tension away--

_ That _ line of thinking immediately halted, before that tension fled elsewhere.

These were knew, these feelings. Everything had been fine, until one day they had been sharing a cup of coffee, and Yuri had laughed, and Otabek just suddenly had the thought that he  _ never _ wanted to lose it. It was a rare laugh, seemingly only reserved for himself, and Otabek was pretty fucking sure that it could cure cancer.

Or would give him cancer.

He sighed, as he folded more clothes.

He always bought things, when he visited. He would leave room in his one suitcase for it, and he tucked the last few shirts away, in a neat little pile. And then he frowned, his hand hesitating over his jacket. The leather was a signature staple to his style, but wasn’t warm enough to the blizzard that covered Russia at the moment.

And there was no room for it in his suitcase. Immediately, he moved to pull something else out, to unfold something less important but--

All these new items, Yuri had picked them. Otabek liked things simple, and the same. He liked a routine, he liked things that lined up in neat little rows, and he didn’t like sacrificing his comfort.

So, the choice between the two was clear. He knew how to make it work, and he hoped the Yuri wouldn’t be angry.

He folded his jacket neatly and rearranged his luggage.

 

* * *

 

The airport in January always pissed him off. 

Any other time of the year, it was fine. Flying to a competition would get his blood rolling, or the excitement of seeing new places. But in January, it meant that Otabek was leaving, and that pissed him right off. And this time, more so than usual.

Yuri was twenty-one now. He wasn’t some stupid kid anymore, with some stupid little crush. Now he was an adult, and  _ fondness and affection _ didn’t cover what he felt for Otabek. He should have said something, but he was a fucking coward.

_ He _ was stupid, sitting there before security, trying his damnedest to not cry.

And it wasn’t that Yuri was an emotional wreck, it was that he was frustrated. And he cried when he was frustrated, and there was nothing worse than having  _ that one person _ walk away. It would be  _ forever _ , before they saw each other again.

Phone calls, and text messages and tagging each other on Instagram wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

Otabek, in true Otabek form stood there, a stern and placid look on his face. Like an unmovable stone wall, always collected. Yuri wondered if he even  _ had _ the ability to crack. And in comparison, there he was, flames ready to burst under his skin, almost like he was burning alive.

They hugged for longer than most would have, especially two men, but Yuri pulled him close, not bothering to care much.

“Beka, you remembered everything, right?”

“Of course, Yura,” he mumbled back, hooking his arm around him.

“And you’ll let me know the moment you land, yes?”

“You’ll be the first to know,” was Otabek’s reply.

“It’s only a few weeks this time,” Yuri said. “I’ll see you at  _ Four Continents _ .”

“Yuri, you aren’t even competing--”

“ _ I’ll see you there _ ,” he said, pulling back.

And there it was, a little bit of a crack in Otabek’s demeanor, as his lips twitched into a smile. Yuri wondered, if Otabek sensed his desperation. He didn’t care. He hugged him again and pulled away fully.

He watched as Otabek shouldered his carry-on bag.

And then he watched as he turned and walked away, with a small wave of his hand.

Yuri almost went after him, almost called after him to  _ come back _ . But he didn’t, instead watching dumbly as Otabek worked his way through security. He kept staring, until he was gone.

He drove back home in bitter silence. He slammed the front door closed with enough force to annoy the neighbors. His grandfather didn’t say anything, only looked at him with pity. It pissed him off, and he couldn’t stop the terrible, harsh words that he yelled right back. Words he instantly regretted, but instead of apologizing like a normal person, he just ran away instead.

His room felt empty.  _ He _ felt empty.

Yuri undressed, slipping into pajamas he had stolen from Otabek years ago. They were ugly and stretched out to the point of no return, but he loved them. He loved them almost as much as--

He stared at the bed dumbly, before pulling the covers back and then he froze. Reaching out to the item folded up and left on his pillow, his fingers sweeping over the smooth and cold material. Otabek’s leather jacket. He traced an old and worn wrinkle, near the shoulder.

What was it doing here?

He didn’t just  _ forget  _ it in his room, he had left it here on  _ purpose _ . Had left it for him. Yuri pulled it to his face, breathing in the distinct smell of leather, and machine oil and whatever that stupid cologne that Otabek swore he didn’t touch. Stupid, because Yuri had bought some himself, just to  _ remember _ , because that ache wasn’t a tiny, little thing anymore. It was this gnawing, all consuming dumpster fire that Yuri couldn't put out.

Otabek’s jacket helped.

Hours later, his phone chirped.

 

_ Beka [6:45 PM]: I’ve landed and I can’t wait to get off this damn plane. _

 

Yuri couldn’t help the smile he managed.

 

_ Yura [6:48 PM]: Which was worst? The plane, or the in-flight movie? _

_ Beka [7:00 PM]: Whoever decided that The Princess Diaries was a crowd pleaser, might want to consider a new career. _

_ Beka [7:15 PM]: My insufferable family is already here.  _

_ Beka [7:16 PM]: This is exactly why I moved out as soon as possible.  _

 

Yuri didn’t bother to respond, since it would be awhile before Otabek was free anyhow. It was annoying though, how easily stupid text messages had instantly lifted his mood. 

Hours later, he pulled out his phone again.

 

_ Yura [11:37 PM]: Hey Beka, you left your jacket here. _

 

He hadn’t expected him to be awake after such a long day, so he was surprised with a response. 

 

_ Beka [11:40 PM]: Oh yeah, I didn’t have room for it.  _

_ Beka [11:41 PM]: It was either that, or the stuff you picked out for me.  _

 

Yuri couldn’t help the way his heart skipped a beat at that. He was about to write a reply, when a call came through on his phone. He answered it immediately, relief flooding through him as Otabek’s voice filled the line. 

“Sorry,” he said, “I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s fine. I just…” He just  _ what _ . It wasn’t like he was going to confess that he had  _ cuddled _ the jacket for the last four fucking hours. “I’ll hang onto it. Keep it safe, you know. Until we see each other next.” A nice, safe answer.

“Right, three weeks,” Otabek said quietly.

Yuri hesitated, and then said, “Is it stupid to say that I already miss your dumb face?”

And then Otabek hesitated, before saying, “No,  _ Yura _ . It’s not stupid at all.” A pause, and then, “Anyway, I just called to say goodnight.”

Yuri wanted to tell him that normal friends didn’t do that. They didn’t leave prized possessions behind, they didn’t call to wish them a good night, they didn’t  _ wait and wait and wait _ , until the weeks were over, just to hug each other again.

But he didn’t, and instead he said, “Yeah, night Beka.”

The line went dead, but his heart felt full. He slept well that night, snuggled into the warm sheets that still smelled like Otabek.

And the next day, Yuri sent him a selfie, wearing his famous jacket.

  
  
  
  



End file.
